


Elvenseed

by Mirabella_Motz



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Elves, F/F, Fantasy style AU, M/M, Other, There will be some blood, Trolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirabella_Motz/pseuds/Mirabella_Motz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A race has collapsed to the ruthless blade of the troll army, leaving nothing but relics behind... and a strange old tale of something called the Elvenseed. Generations passed and little Historia Reiss dreams of magic and fantasy in a world that shuns both such things. Will the strange little girl be able to revive an entire race? Will she be able to unearth the secrets of her past and the pasts of her ancestors? Will she ever be able to kiss at least one cute girl... ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elvenseed: A prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Elvenseed! This is an idea I've been spinning around for some time now. I hope it's to everyone's liking! I'd really love to have someone to read and edit this story as I pour out new chapters. If you're interested in that leave me a message on my tumblr 'the-harvest-goddess.tumblr.com'. I hope you enjoy reading!

Before the start of this story, and before the the little heroine's tale itself, there must be told another story. The account is a rather gruesome one, An account of the loss of an entire race. This race, completely eradicated from the history of this land, was the Elfish race, and their legend of woe begins with a simple slip of the tongue and ends with the slip of a mighty king’s sword as he falls down into the wet mud of a new era.

The scene is set in the flickering almost light of a friendly forest. The faint smell of fresh rain lingers among the trees and if you stare hard enough through them you might be able to see a castle made completely of wood hidden in their depths. Then, at a second glance… it’s gone. You took your eyes off it for a minute and it slipped from your perception into your memories. Was that strange castle of wood really there? Or was it just your mind? 

Of course, it wasn’t an illusion. It was the ethereal resting place for the Elven hierarchy, and, if given passage, your third look would prove more fruitful. You turn your eyes back to the trees to see a bustling town above you in the branches, walkways made of swinging bridges, houses out of woody trunks. Storefronts are boasting their relation to the beautiful Elven Princess, while still managing to stay ambiguous about their line of lineage. Bakers are busy, Blacksmiths are bustling, Seamstresses are stressed, yet everyone seems utterly pleased to meet you. A magic shop just on the corner of the street offers you a spell to mend the tear on your pant leg, or a cure for your hoarse throat. This town is the perfect mix of a busy castle town and a familiar farm village. 

When you stop in the pub, the long eared serving wench takes your order; the stew, along with watered wine and a bit of bread. She doesn’t make a show out of serving you, but she does manage to slip you some seedy gossip about the royal family. It’s said the Elven King has managed to insult the Troll King by retracting his invitation to his daughter’s wedding. He simply wouldn’t be able to fit on the intricate and delicate hanging rope walkways, nor would he be able to use any of the frail little tools around the castle. Though, there is a rumor that the real reason the Troll King wasn’t allowed access to wedding was because the sweet and innocent Elven Princess had fallen madly in love with the Troll King’s son, and a union like THAT was strictly forbidden. Elves would marry other Elves, so as to keep the line pure and untarnished. 

That last rumor was the start of the downfall of the entire Elvish race. A regular star crossed story that cost a King his people to cover up. That’s just the dangers of stopping love, you never know what vengeful might would be released instead... 

The Troll warriors destroyed and burnt the Elven forest to the ground, while surviving citizens fled to the human Kingdom of Trost. From there, the Elven people launched into battle… but without their magic and the cover of their forest, they were quickly defeated. 

It ends much quicker than it begins, you’ll find, as you look from the dead, glassy eyes of a fallen Elven warrior, your silver chest piece caved in with a club and your throat slit with a large curving sword. From the spot you fell you can smell the metallic tang of the blood you’ve spilt on the ground; your’s, your enemies’ and your fallen brothers and sisters’. You can see the final battle end, and the Elven King kneel before the ten foot tall King of the Trolls. His sword takes the blunt of his fall and sinks into the ruddy mud, slick with the blood of his fallen people.

His eyes cry out the sorrow of his decisions. One man’s choices shouldn’t be the end of an entire race of people… but it is and it was. His wail of anguish sung his story to the Troll King, though the colossally sized being could not find in himself the ability to care anymore. The genocide of an entire race, the screams of those he tortured… they changed him into a different man. He was so very full of hatred, nothing like the friend mankind had before. His displeasure turned into anger, which turned into rage, and at last… an undying passion to rid the world of the Elven race and all its putrid magic.

“You have cost many of my people’s lives. Our long battle is finally reached an end.” The clumsy tongue spoke, much more accustom to speaking his own language rather than the sweet, fluid language the Elves shared with the mortal race, “The end of the Elven Magic is a reward more than worth the thousands of Trolls that have paid their lives.”

These words brought the beaten King defiantly to his feet, leaning on his sword as it sunk further into the mud. With all the strength he had left in him he laughed in the Troll’s face and spat at the ground. “The Elvenseed has been planted… Our magic will survive.” His voice reflected a power that his body no longer held.

He spoke no more as his body collapsed to lie with your own, dead and broken. The eyes you peered out of before turned dark. This leaves you wondering… The Elven seed? You can hardly believe this. The. Elven. Seed. Well, to tell the truth, you have no idea what that means, but it sounds important. Most people have no clue as to what the fallen king referred to, and neither did the Troll King. Most take it as the crazy ramblings of an almost dead, old man, and to be completely honest… so do you.

And so the fallen race decomposes slowly, yet surely, in the muddy field far to the west of Trost. Their story was turned into legend, which turned to myth, then to fairytale.  
And so a race had ended,  


For a time… 


	2. A Rough Begining

“How does magic work, Mommy?” A small little girl with fair golden hair asks.

The black robed man was sending a dozen juggling balls dancing around the stage.

“Magic isn’t real.” The woman says dully, her dark eyes closing for a moment as if she was tired of the world and just about everything in it, “Look closely. You can see the strings that make the balls float around.”

The girl looks, and sure enough… there they were. She seems completely distraught for a moment, but then remembers she’s out for the first time in a long time with her mother. That brightens up her day a little. She was trying to enjoy the most of the time she had left with her mother before she leaves her with her grandmamma and grandpapa. Better not waste any of it with silly thoughts of being sad. Her bright, blue eyes move back up to shine at her mother, but she doesn’t get much of a response back. A small pained smile forces its way on her face.

Her mother really didn’t seem to like her all too much. Nobody did… Not here, not anywhere. She couldn’t tell if she was just being annoying or if her parents’ place in society made her seem out of place. Her hands traveled to her ears as she thought, a subconscious habit she picked up, probably due to a lot of people pulling on them. Now that she thought about it… It probably wasn’t anything she stated before that made everyone hate her so. It was most likely the strangeness of her ears that caught people off guard and made them wrinkle their noses in disgust.

Her ears were long, disfigured, shaped a lot like a mixture of a doe’s ear and a human’s ear. The poor little girl tried to cover them up at school, but still people picked on her and threw things at her. And it wasn’t just at school… Her mother couldn’t bear the sight of her and neither could her father. Too rich to be bother with such a disfigured child, they passed her off to her grandparents and tried to forget her and all the shame she brought to her family just by existing.

Except for today. Her mother promised her she’d take her out today… show her the town and even stay the night in an inn with her! The golden haired girl practically floated in complete happiness down the streets, passing the street performers and stage performances Stohess was so well known for. She didn’t mention the magic again, even though it fascinated her so. Anything to keep her mother happy… anything to stop her from turning that horrible look of disappointment on her again.

* * *

“Wake up, Historia.” The girl startles at the shrill voice of her mother, “We’re going to go somewhere… your father is going to meet us there as well.”

That was all the little girl needed to hear. She hopped off the bed and rushed around, putting on the clothes she packed for today and tying up her hair in the pretty pink ribbons she kept from two years ago. They had a couple snags in them and were a little frayed around the edges, but they still worked. She hopped they made her father smile. The little girl follows her mother out the door of their room in the inn and then right out the front door, onto the bustling street. She stays at her heals like a peppy little pup.

When Historia passes by a store window, she pauses and takes a look at the reflection of herself in the glass. Her skin was fair… pale as porcelain and her hair was the same shining gold as her mothers. She didn’t have her mother’s eyes though… Those huge, crystal blue beauties were her father’s. Her frame was small and thin, though her face was rounded and cheeks plush. Her nose was small and button-like… Historia often wondered if she could be called cute if only her ears didn’t get in the way. She reaches out and touches one of the pointed tips before jumping at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Historia. You’ll get lost if you trail too far behind.” Her mother says, grabbing sharply at her small wrist. 

The rest of that day was a blur to the little girl. It was filled with blood, terror, screaming. Her father’s frantic yells and her mother’s pained betrayal. It was all a blur to the little girl and it was still a blur to her now. Age did nothing much to clarify exactly what happened, all that Historia knew was that she wasn’t Historia now. She was Christa… Christa Lenz.

She wasn’t to ever say her real name again and she was to report to the church in the city to tell them she had been recently orphaned. 

It was her birthday… but all Historia received was a bloody past and a broken new life.

* * *

Professor Hanji Zoe stood and wiped the perspiration from her brow. The sleeve of her jacket left a muddy streak across her skin, but nobody seemed to notice and nobody seemed to care. The professor had been on bended knees most of the day, sifting through dirt and clay for any little relics she could discover.

With a sigh, the brunette makes her way back to the campsite, obviously a little frustrated there wasn’t anything to find in that section of the dig. She shuffles back into her tent with an accompaniment of fifteen students, who had volunteered their time to this interesting archaeological dig. An equal number of men with swords were hired for protection, as this area was in troll territory and none of the students felt like having their skulls bashed in as they studied and discovered.

Hanji had enjoyed great success so far on her excursion, uncovering many artifacts from the ancient civilization she had discovered. This discovery was much different than the old Troll cities she was used to digging up. The ruins she excavated now were deep in a dark forest and were more highly advanced than anything she had seen any troll do. They had technology and language far more intricate and substantial than any troll.

With that knowledge, Hanji was able to speculate just exactly what she was looking at, and her speculations were incredible. An Elven city… Everything she had been searching for… Right at her fingertips.

The architecture of the city was amazing. Everything seemed to blend in perfectly with the surroundings, it’d be easy to miss the burned fragments and the crumbling houses… but Hanji was smart enough to look a good couple times to make sure they had the right place. She was very glad she did, because scrolls lined the walls of this town and they all spoke so vividly about the ways of the world. It’d take a life time to read through all of the scrolls and study them. One particular set of scrolls was very important at the moment. It was the one written in gold and crimson that lay, partially crisp from the fire that seemed to be long since gone. 

As Hanji laid on her cot, she carefully pulled out a scroll and read through it. She pulled her hair and bit at her fingernails as she tried to discern just exactly what it mean, but she couldn’t quite figure it out. She worked for a while to figure out exactly what it said through the burned and scorched marks on the paper. With a worried look in her eyes, she moves from her cot to her desk and quickly pulls out a notebook. Without delay, she begins to hurriedly scratch away at the paper, leaving notes in return. The light from the lantern on her desk cast strange looking shadows on her face and the wall behind her.

By the time Moblit walked in, she was finished writing down that the scrolls said and she was more than happy about her new knowledge.

“Moblit! You’ll never believe what I just worked on. You will NEVER believe it.” She says, waving the paper in front of his face.

“Professor, please… calm down. Is it another ‘Elven’ folk tale?” He asks in a small, soothing voice.

“Moblit! Listen! I hold here, in my very hands, the most recent record the Elves kept of file. They’re over a thousand years old!”

Moblit starts to speak, but Hanji cuts him off.

“Let me read this final entry:  
 _'The trolls have destroyed so many of our people. And our beautiful town is forced into flames and fire. Our only hope is that the Conclave of Wizards will work a spell to save us. All seems lost now that the trolls have found a way to resist our magical advances. Even now, our valiant King musters the last of his forces, mostly his own personal guard, to make a final stand just outside of Trost. The conclave argues too much, and our king is impatient… We can only pray for a miracle.'_ ”

She looks up from her paper and smiles up at him, but he decides it’s his turn to speak now.

“Professor… I think we have our miracle.” He says simply.

Hanji looks terribly confused, a huge step down from the happiness she was feeling before at having discovered something new.

“In my final year training at the academy, there was a little girl. I never really talked to her, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t look exactly like that one drawing.” He says, pointing to the royal scroll with the portrait of the elf king’s face on it. Hanji takes a good look at the drawing and then a long hard stare at Moblit’s face. This could be big…. Really big.

The professor stood and shouldered her cloak, ready to leave on the double… when a young man with goggles appeared at the door. He was panting and out of breath as he raised his goggles up to sit on top of his head; there was a ring of red clay dust that decorated around his eyes but, for some reason, he didn’t seem all too concerned with that.

“Hanji!” He spoke in a rushed, breathless voice, “We’ve discovered the royal library.”

“That’s fantastic-” Hanji starts, but is cut off with more horrifying news.

“But… there was an accident. One of the students died trying to extract a couple books for your research.”


End file.
